


The Wrong Place at the Right Time

by Lilith_Grimm



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith_Grimm/pseuds/Lilith_Grimm
Summary: University student, Alexandria Lawson, has an unexpected encounter with fate in the form of a hit and run. Saving the life of a stranger only leads to trouble, however, as the binds of fate lead them down a dark and twisting path, where both of them have something sinister to hide.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Monday's

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic I wanted to explore all aspects of Michael, particularly the pieces we didn't get to see as much of in AHS: Apocalypse. As such, this story will follow along the Apocalypse timeline with a few notable dips and bends here and there, to better represent Andi's effect on what ultimately feels like an inevitable scenario.  
> If you're not a fan of Coven or Apocalypse, this will not be the fic for you, as the story will heavily feature characters, elements and events from both.

Chapter One:  
Monday's  
Theme Song: Speeding Cars by Walking on Cars

Los Angeles, California,  
Monday, September 14th, 2015

Monday. Andi had never been a fan of Monday’s. The weekend always fled too soon and every paper she'd ever written was probably due on a Monday. There was nothing surprising or startling about the start of the week, and as such, today was a Monday like every other one she'd lived through in the last year or so. It was repetitive, it was reliable, it was utterly the same as always.  
  
That is, until the sound of wheels screeching across asphalt at an alarmingly violent speed caught her attention and held it. Pulling one earbud free from her left ear, Andi turned to face the noise just as the car connected with the body of a blonde man and sent him spiraling.  
"Holy shit!" Andi froze in shock, a split-second exclamation fled her lips as she registered the horrific sight. Moving without thought Andi rushed towards the man to help; he appeared injured but thankfully not dead on impact.  
"Hey, stay with me, kid. Look at me, look at me." Andi pleaded with the blonde fellow as the car backed up in their direction. Was the driver planning to run him over again?! Was the first time not an accident? What the hell did a random teenage boy do to deserve a hit and re-run?! The driver had to be out of their mind!  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Andi screamed in the driver's window as she narrowly avoided the duo, backing around them and stopping just a few feet away once they both were in her sights. Who was she? Some crazy ex out for revenge? Andi had little time to contemplate as the stranger revved the car engine in warning. Andi knew then, without shadow of a doubt, that if she didn't flee the stranger was going to run her down too.

"Hey, hey, we need to move. I know it hurts, but I need you to get up for me, man, please." Andi quietly begged the blonde boy and carefully pulled him into an upright sitting position. Judging by the wince on his face, he was in a lot of pain. How he'd survived the first impact was a miracle and a mystery in and of itself. Andi didn't need to see it happen to know he wouldn't be as lucky on second impact.  
"Get up, come on, you can do this--" Andi pleaded, dragging the blonde to his feet and steadying him just as the car honked a loud obtrusive warning. Both sets of eyes turned to the driver in confusion and shock. The endless echoing question of 'why' hung in the air between them as the engine revved once more, only this time the hiss of tires charging forward broke the monotony and Andi reacted on instinct, pushing the blond behind her and raising a hand outward towards the car, silently pleading for the driver to stop.

Something strange happened then. Stranger than a hit and run, stranger than an antisocial girl getting involved with a man she'd never met, stranger than anything Alexandria Lawson had ever experienced in her 19 seemingly predictable years of life.  
Although the wheels on the car continued to turn, the vehicle would move no further. It was as if a barrier had cemented itself in the space between the terrified duo and the strange black car. Andi could see the faintest waftings of smoke from the wheels as they strained against the asphalt, she could see the anger in the driver's eyes as they maintained furious contact with Andi's own bewildered gaze. All signs pointed to the angry woman trying her damnedest to reach them. Andi knew better than to waste time watching, however, mesmerizing as it might be.

"Follow me!" Andi didn't allow the injured boy time to answer, she simply grabbed his hand and held on tight, guiding him down the street and around a corner. From a distance she watched the black car backing up again and turning down the opposite street in pursuit of them. If they were dumb enough to take the main road, their mystery assailant would find them in minutes, at most. Side streets with more than one exit would be their safest bet now, ideally the kinds that a car might not easily fit down, if at all.  
"We're gonna have to take the long way home, put your arm around me, I'll help you walk," Andi murmured, shouldering the burden of the blonde boy's weight and shuffling in the direction of the nearest ally at as brisk of a pace as could be managed in his condition. No way in hell she could take him to a hospital, even in his condition. Anyone willing to run through a complete stranger to get to someone else wouldn't be worried about waltzing into a public health facility armed to finish the job. Sticking blondie in a room with a hospital gown and nothing else was the equivalent of handing him over on a fucking golden platter. Andi was a lot of things but heartless wasn't one of them. She was in this mess now and it was up to her to find their safest path back out, ideally for the _both_ of them.  
"Home?" It was the first word he spoke to her and he did so with such quiet uncertainty that she'd almost missed it. His voice was the faintest little noise, young and frightened, it made him seem so much smaller than he was, somehow.  
"Yeah. Home. Well, _mine_ anyway, but you can stay there until we figure out something better for you," Andi explained as they rounded a side street and cut across a strangers lawn to reach another alleyway. Stopping just outside a tall brick apartment building, Andi gestured to the winding fire escape that lined the back wall. It would be better for everyone if nobody saw them enter her apartment from the front, especially if crazy car lady thought to ask around about their whereabouts.  
  
"You think you can handle the stairs? It's only two flights, uh, and a... window..." Andi trailed off with uncertainty, knowing she probably wasn't talking up her 'home' very well if this was blondie's first impression. The boy didn't offer a verbal reply, but he nodded somewhat halfheartedly and allowed Andi to help him up the stairs one grueling step at a time. The window was the harder feat of accomplishment, and the groan of pain that escaped his throat as he tackled it was enough to make Andi feel like the shittiest person on Earth for having ever asked him to hoist himself in via the sorry excuse of a crawlspace.  
"We made it, we're safe now. You can rest," Andi murmured soft reassurances as she shut and locked the window behind him and then gestured to the somewhat unimpressive state of her semi-run-down flat, wishing she'd had the foresight to clean up a bit before his arrival.  
  
Though the location they were in now was quite small--a studio apartment in a building that probably shouldn't have offered one due to its size--Andi made remarkable use of the space. Carefully placed folding screens and cleverly draped curtains broke up the main room by quartering it off, giving the illusion of privacy to what was undoubtedly one single open floorplan. A door to a dimly lit bathroom stood adjar, makeup pallets and a hair towel scattered unceremoniously across the counter within, forgotten from the haste of a familiar morning routine. Just opposite the bathroom was a slightly neater kitchen, though a pile of unwashed dishes sat waiting in the sink, and she'd apparently forgotten to put the butter away before leaving for class and it looked to be a pile of goop on the plate now. Fuck.  
  
"It's not much, I know, but it's home. So... Let's get you comfortable and I'll see what I can do about the pain. Here, sit." Guiding the blonde just a few feet away from the window, Andi coaxed him into an old worn armchair that looked like it might have been blue once but was a sort of mottled purple-gray now. While the furniture had certainly seen better days, it's old state meant it had been broken in years ago and was actually quite comfortable now. Apart from her bed, it was the softest spot in the flat.  
"I think I have a first aid kit in the bathroom. You just rest, alright?" Andi made eye contact with the boy for a moment, long enough to register that he'd heard what she said, and that he was still coherent--thank God he didn't have a concussion--before disappearing into the bathroom and rummaging under the sink until she procured a first aid kit, some fresh towels and a glass of cold tap water.  
  
Upon her arrival to the main room, Andi set her medical supplies down on a half-warped coffee table, before strumming nervous fingers against the side of the plastic cup, seemingly a little out of sorts with herself. Now that the adrenaline and shock of the scenario had warn off, she was swiftly faced with her own social awkwardness once more.  
"Uh--here, sorry it's not fancy, I wasn't expecting company," Andi handed the blonde fellow the cup of water with an apology, watching him grasp it with both hands but not yet bother to take a sip.  
"Right. Okay. Where does it hurt?" Andi gestured to the first aid kit and towels, wondering if what he didn't need was a proper medical doctor, and not a clumsy girl with a first aid kit and poor social graces. The best she could do was keep him from getting worse, hopefully anyway. When the blonde didn't reply, Andi picked up the medkit and showed it to him.  
"Do you... want to patch yourself up? It's okay if you don't trust me. I mean, shit, I wouldn't trust me either," Andi joked, but her laughter was unaccompanied by any noise of his own. Great. Maybe he was just the stony silent type?  
  
“Right, well, I'm going to--”  
“Alexandria Lawson,” He interjected, announcing her full name so suddenly that she froze in abject horror. Gods and Devils, how did he know it? Was he working for the Cooperative? Had they found her already? She'd been so fucking careful! She'd scrubbed every trace of her old identity out of these bones, there was no way they'd caught up to her this fast--  
“Who is Alexandria Lawson?” Delicate fingers plucked up an envelope off the side table, a letter from her University sat unopened from earlier in the week. The blonde boy was just repeating the name he'd seen on the paper. He didn't immediately know it was her, hell, he probably had no idea who she _used_ to be. She could have cried in relief.  
  
"Is that your name?" Proving her instincts all wrong, the boy piped up his innocent query. A simple question that hadn't even crossed her mind before welcoming him into her own home as if he were a long lost family member or an old fond friend. He placed the letter back down as his expression shifted from curiosity to disinterest once more.  
"It's Andi, actually. Alexandria is so posh, y'know? Just use it for interviews.” Or hiding from her past, but there was no way he'd know that. She was just being paranoid.  
  
“Anyway--What about you, what's your name?"  
"Michael. Michael Langdon." So it wasn't a fluke, the boy could speak after all. Nice.  
"It sucked to meet you, Michael Langdon. But... I'm really glad we did." If they hadn't, he'd be dead right now. Somehow she was sure of it. The memory of the black car and the cold look in that woman's eyes, Andi couldn't push it away. Though they escaped, she couldn't help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her that all she did was buy Michael time, and maybe not even that much of it.

Idly, Andi set the first aid kit back down, her gaze passing over Michael in an attempt to diagnose what spots needed help, she wasn't sure if the shock of the situation had him erring on the side of nonverbal so she hoped to maybe take charge as needed, for his sake. The further her gaze delved, the more worried she became. Bruised knees and torn clothes. Asphalt-ripped palms cradling trembling fingers. Barefeet with bloodied and glass-speckled skin. This kid was a disaster. And here she'd dragged him down three alley's and up two flights of stairs to get them home. There wasn't a word strong enough for the worry and guilt she felt for him then.  
  
"You lose your shoes in the accident?" Was that even the right term for it, _an accident_ , as if the woman merely broke through a light and bumped him at the crosswalk.  
"No," Michael shook his head but offered her no further insight than that. This conversation was going nowhere, but Andi was not one to be deterred. Not by speeding cars or quiet boys, not be weird Monday's either.  
"Can I help treat your wounds, Michael? Is that alright?" Andi asked, reaching for the blonde boy's hands to examine the scrapes but he recoiled away from her the moment their fingers touched, uttering another quiet 'no', this one nearly too soft to be heard. The cup of water jostled and nearly spilled, but instead of putting it down Michael only gripped it tighter, his knuckles paling with the effort.  
  
"Okay, that's okay, I won't touch you then," Andi reassured him, struggling to make sense of the man--boy?--in front of her. He looked her age, maybe a year or two younger, but be spoke with the inflection of a child. He didn't look to her with the gaze of a rebellious teenager who knew exactly what he'd done to end up on the receiving end of a truck, but rather a child who couldn't grasp the concept of strangers wanting to hurt him--or _help him_ either, it seemed.  
An uneasy silence settled between them then as Andi tried to decipher what her next move ought to be. She couldn't force treatment on Michael, even though he clearly needed it, so how on Earth was she supposed to keep him from bleeding out on her hardwood floor?

Judging by his manner of speech, Andi had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Michael couldn't be reasoned with in the way an adult could, but maybe she could reason with him as a child. Crouching down so that she was level with the seated man, Andi reached for the medkit and balanced it on her thighs before slowly opening it up and turning it around to face him.  
"Can I show you what's in my first aid kit, Michael?" Andi inquired, watching as haunted blue eyes followed her every move. He didn't speak but he nodded his consent, which was as good a start as any, she supposed.  
"This here, is gauze. It's for wrapping injuries, it's soft and smooth, like cotton. Do you want to touch it?" Andi clasped the round bundle in between her thumb, index and middle finger, offering it to Michael who released his hold on the cup--his left hand, anyway--to touch the gauze, his lips immediately twisting into a subtle frown as he turned the bundle over in his fingers.

"Cotton is softer, actually," he announced, somewhat bored, before handing the gauze back to Andi. Tossing the gauze into the first aid kit, Andi reached for the next nearest supply, allowing the round object to glide down her middle finger and circle around the digit a few times in a clumsy rhythm.  
"Next up, we've got some adhesive tape. It's sticky, like regular tape, but gentle enough that it won't hurt as much on your skin."

One by one, Andi continued her quiet explanation of the first aid kit contents, pausing periodically to hand Michael an item so that he could assess the object for himself, before making a show of tossing the item back where they'd found it in as exaggerated a manner as possible. Her silly antics, while well-intentioned, were a rather desperate bid to make the stranger laugh, smile, smirk, or at least display the barest hints of emotion other than betrayal. Not like she knew him well enough to say for sure, but thus far he seemed to be a very somber kid. Teen? Young adult? Fuck, she couldn't tell. Some kids were beanstalks.  
  
“How old are you, Michael?” Andi asked at last, long after the blonde boy seemed to uncoil from within, relaxing just enough with his new companion to watch her unseal a miniature bottle of hydrogen peroxide and open a resealable bag of cotton balls.  
“I'm not sure,” he confessed, genuine uncertainty within his gaze. Did he come from one of those peculiar families that didn't see the meaning in celebrating holidays or keeping track of birthdays?  
“When's your birthday?” Andi pressed, pushing her luck a little to see where the boundaries and lines might lay.  
"The twentieth of March.” His response seemed curiously methodical, memorized in a way. Like a child that had been taught to ramble off emergency contacts without thinking about what they were being asked to say. The numbers held no meaning beyond the purpose they served. For the second time that day, Andi experienced a moment of clarity, wherein she knew something without knowing how. She knew, without truly knowing, that Michael's birthday didn't appear to be any sort of cause for excitement or celebration, it was simply the answer to a question he was asked from time to time.  
  
“You don't know the year?” Andi pressed for an answer, but to no great surprise the blonde boy shook his head, "No.”  
“Mine's in June, a little ways after yours,” Andi offered, but Michael didn't particularly respond apart from maintaining an uncomfortable level of eye contact, for whatever that counted towards.  
“Okay then..." Andi trailed off, deciding not to dwell on the abnormalities of the blonde boy's social graces and instead resigned herself to continuing along with her treatment attempts.

Soaking one of the cotton balls in peroxide, Andi then held it up between two fingers for Michael to see, hoping to clean at least his scrapes, if he'd allow it.  
“This will hurt a little bit, but do you think I can help you now?” Michael's gaze held steady, unyielding to an almost uncomfortable degree; She could have sworn he didn't even blink, the emptiness in his gaze silently nurtured an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke, and Andi released a breathe she hadn't noticed she'd been holding until it escaped.

“Can't hurt much more than getting hit by a car did, so… yes. Go ahead.” For a single flickering moment, Michael seemed older. His words were tired, his tone bitter. Anger had risen to replace the fear that stood at the very surface of his consciousness, swallowing his vulnerability whole and leaving apathy in its wake. Where was the fearful child speaking a moment ago? And who was this stranger in his place?  
"I'll be as gentle as I can," Andi promised, dabbing the cotton against his wounds and cleaning them of the dirt and blood that had ground its way into his flesh. Michael didn't even wince. Perhaps it was shock that prevented him from feeling anything at all. It might explain his odd behavior, even. All the better, really, he didn't deserve more pain after the morning he'd been through. Andi was just grateful she'd gotten him out of the way before that psychopath could return for a second run.

Treating his face was the easy part, it turned out, as a little bit more coaxing allowed her access to the rest of him. His chest was sorely bruised but relatively uninjured due to his hips and abdomen having taken the brunt of the impact. His left leg bore a rather deep gash that Andi had to pick pieces of glass out of with a pair of tweezers.  
“Shit, this is gonna need stitches,” Andi hissed in dismay, wrapping the wound as carefully as she could and grimacing as the sight of blood pooled around the edges of the bandaging.  
“I'll be alright,” Michael murmured, shifting away from her slightly as he settled lower into the chair. It was a shame the old rickety thing didn't properly recline anymore, Andi had a feeling Michael could use some genuine rest. Maybe she could sleep in the chair and he could take her bed, that seemed more fair considering he was the injured party.  
  
Before Andi could offer him her bed, a meal, or even a moment of silence, Michael spoke, gesturing toward her dirtied palms with a tilt of his chin.  
“That thing with your hand earlier, how did you do that?” His question hung in the air between them, filling the silence with uncertainty. Andi was trying very hard not to think about it. Mostly because she didn't have a very good explanation.  
“I don't know, it's never happened before.” Nervously, she gathered up the medical kit and rose from her place beside him, moving into the cluttered kitchen to toss the sullied supplies in the trash and set the first aid kit on the counter.  
“Does it scare you?” His voice rang out again, clearer than before, much more assertive than the figurative child she'd been faced with moments prior. Was the shock wearing off or was it setting in? She couldn't rightly explain his curious behavioral shifts any other way.

“Alexandria.” When Andi didn't offer a reply, Michael shifted into an upright position, calling her name to regain her attention. It wasn't so much that she was avoiding him or his inquiry, but the question made her uneasy, anxious even.  
“Andi,” she corrected him, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest as a sharp tight exhale began raking its way through her lungs.  
“Do you think it should?” Her gaze settled on him, wide-eyes and dark circles, an expression riddled with too many sleepless nights meeting one that hardly appeared weary at all.

“Sometimes strange things happen to me,” Michael announced by way of answering her question--or perhaps avoiding it--, quite unexpectedly in fact. It was as if he were making a bold declaration, a statement he'd been holding in for quite some time.  
“Stranger than being hit by a car?” Andi half-joked, unsure if the blonde would take it well, given the circumstances.  
"Sometimes people get hurt around me."  
"Worse than being hi--no, come on, don't make me use the same joke twice," Andi teased, playing on her previous statement in the hopes to rouse at least a smirk from the boy.  
"Sometimes they die." Out of anyone else's mouth, the statement might have been deemed ominous, but the expression on Michael's face was not a threatening one, rather he appeared remorseful, sad even. The grin slid away from Andi's lips then, as this hardly seemed a laughing matter anymore.

“Did that woman in the car have anything to do with those people? The ones that died?” Revenge was one hell of a motivator, it would explain her determination to see him run down.  
“No—I mean, I don't know. I hope not. My grandma took care of those things for me. I never had to worry about them before now.” Michael shook his head, his gaze softening slightly, the corners of his lips twisting into a small frown.  
“She… took care of the dead people?” As in hiding the bodies? Or paying off law enforcement to ensure they looked the other way? Andi wasn't sure if she had the nerve to ask. She wasn't sure she'd like the answer.  
“They were accidents. I was scared, I didn't mean to--” His voice cracked when he spoke, tears welling up in his eyes as he struggle to form a coherent statement. The cup he'd been holding finally slipped from his hands and spilled, and the two of them both scrambled to turn it upright, its contents soaking into the carpet at their feet. The scenario appeared to be the equivalent of the straw breaking the camels back as Michael began to visibly shake in distress.  
“Things happened that were out of your control,” Andi finished the sentence for him, understanding far too well the situation he was in, the feeling of helplessness that swallowed everything up when a scenario that once appeared well in hand backfired catastrophically. She was not innocent, though she didn't like to admit it; Internally, she wondered if it made her a terrible person to be just a little bit relieved upon discovering that neither was he.  
  
“Please don't make me leave!” Michael shot up from his seat faster than she'd expect out of an injured boy, trembling hands reaching for hers, pulling at her crossed arms until he found them. His efforts lured Andi to her to her senses as dirt-stained nails sunk into her skin, grasping her palms with a force that could only be wrought on by sheer desperation.  
“I--” Andi froze, taking in the frantic look in his eyes. Maybe he was dangerous. Maybe he was mentally unwell. Maybe he was a calculating serial killer playing on the empathy of strangers. Or… maybe he was just a scared teenager with nowhere else to go. Two years ago, she was exactly the same. Turning him down now wouldn't help her sleep at night, and she had trouble sleeping enough as is.  
“I won't, you can stay as long as you need to, Michael,” Andi conceded, relaxing as his grip on her loosened and he eventually pulled away, wiping the back of his palm across one cheek and smearing tears and dirt across his face. Damn. He could use a shower, assuming he was able to stand up long enough to manage one. He didn't thank her as he collapsed back into the chair, but she didn't need him to, his relief was gratitude enough.

“That woman in the car. You're sure you don't know her?” Andi inquired, after Michael seemed to have gotten a better hold on his emotions.  
“I've never seen her before today, not that I can remember.”  
“Do you think she'll come looking for you?” _For us,_ was what Andi had wanted to say, but the words felt too bold. She was in this now, as much as he, but saying it aloud was too high a risk. She knew what it was like to lose everything and everyone you ever loved. She didn't want to place Michael in a category that would put him at risk, it sounded like his life was risky enough without her problems adding onto it.

“I only saw her for a moment, but, the way she looked at me… it seemed like she knew me. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. So… yes. I think she'll come looking. I just wish I knew why.”  
“Who knows. Maybe you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she was just looking for someone to hurt. Maybe you fit the bill.” Michael stayed silent for a moment after Andi spoke, his expression unreadable; Andi didn't bother him, she figured he'd need time to think, she certainly did.  
What an odd pair they were, a murderer and a misfit. If a stranger looked very closely, would they be able to tell which one was which?

"What if she goes back? What if she tries to hurt my grandma?"  
"Then... we'll stop her, I guess.” Andi wasn't entirely sure how, but if she saved him, she could save his nan too, couldn't she?  
“Who is your grandma, by the way? I didn't see her when you were hit--"  
"She wasn't there," Michael interjected, his expression quite reminiscent of a wounded animal, someone who had been defeated a dozen times over. The face of a man who had expected more and ended up disappointed, "Her name is Constance. She's always been there for me, _always_. But this time, this time everything was different. This time she wasn't there,” Michael's voice softened, his eyelids fluttered rapidly, Andi realized then that he was blinking back tears.  
"Why?" Andi exhaled the word so softly that she almost wasn't sure she'd actually said it.  
"She asked me to leave." The words were catching in his throat and freezing there, painfully clawing their way back out one at a time in a desperate bid to be heard.  
“She told me to get out. She said she didn't want me. She threw my jacket at me--I didn't even grab my shoes, I just ran. She was so angry."  
“Oh. I--I'm so sorry, Michael.” So he got kicked out of his home and then hit by a car? No wonder he was out of sorts, who wouldn't be after that kind of trauma?

“Why did she kick you out?” Andi spoke as gently as she could manage, not wanting to upset him any further. They were just starting to get comfortable with each other, after all.  
“I made her mad. I messed up again. I tried to do better, I promised I would, I wanted to make her happy but… she always got so mad. I think she doesn't love me anymore. I _know_ she doesn't.”  
"Maybe she's just upset right now. Maybe we can go see her later and talk things out?" Andi didn't really know the extent of the damage done, but she found it hard to believe that a woman willing to cover up murder would just turn her back on her grandson so easily.  
"She's done with me. I know it. I can't go back there." Michael cast his bloodshot gaze on Andi then, blinking away tears and shaking his head in quiet disagreement. He seemed so sure that what he'd had was lost now. What had she said to him to cement those feelings so deeply?  
  
"Hey," Andi reached for Michael's hand this time, offering him a brief reassuring squeeze, “Don't worry so much. We're gonna figure this out. Together."  
"Maybe," he conceded, squeezing back, despite how apprehensive he seemed. Releasing his palm, Andi turned away, circling round the counter and heading in the direction of the kitchen once more.  
"In the meantime, let me go fix us something to eat. You hungry?" Andi shot off her question just as she wrenched open a cabinet to reveal a handful of assorted spices and seasonings. On the very top shelf, above the seasonings sat three different boxes of pasta, while the shelf below them was home to a heavy cloth sack full of 5 pounds--give or take--of Jasmine rice.

"How do you feel about stir-fry? I've got some veggies that are about to turn, I should use them up before that happens."  
"Sounds good to me." Michael seemed a bit more optimistic at the mention of food. He reminded Andi of her brother in that way. There was just no problem a hot meal couldn't solve... speaking of which, "Do you wanna go take a shower while I cook? I have some old clothes you can wear, they belonged to my brother. Probably won't be a perfect match, but you guys are around the same height. Not sure what we'll do if his shoes don't fit. Order a pair online maybe?" As Andi prattled along, she hoisted the bag of rice out of the cabinet and plopped it down onto the counter. Kneeling to retrieve a pot from the cabinet below the sink, Andi was partway through measuring calculations in her head when the sound of Michael unsteadily rising from his seat caught her attention.

"Take it slow," she warned him, dreading the thought of having to pick him back up off the ground again.  
"Bathroom is to my left, fresh towels in the closet across from it. I'll grab you some clothes as soon as I get the rice started," she promised, already fiddling with the dials on the stove and about to begin pouring grains of rice into a measuring cup.  
Approaching her from behind, Michael leaned his weight against the counter, steadying his gaze on the bustling redhead before him.  
"Why aren't you afraid of me? I told you I hurt people." He spoke so very softly that it took Andi a moment to process what he'd said. When she did, her response was just as quiet, her hands still focused on prepping their meal, though her mind was elsewhere.

"Worse things in this world to be afraid of than getting hurt, Michael."  
"I could kill you." The way he said it, Andi recognized it wasn't a threat, it was just a sad statement made by a boy who, perhaps, couldn't control himself one too many times. She didn't need to tell him that death would be a release for someone like her. She especially didn't need to mention that she'd already tried.  
"You could," Andi agreed, "But who would make you stirfry then?" The teasing in her tone was evident, but Michael was having none of it.  
"You're not listening!" He hissed in frustration, one hand slamming against the counter.  
"Michael." Turning to face him full on, hardly even bothered by his hot and cold temperament, Andi studied the boy a second or so, struggling to find the words he needed to hear. What would he even say if she told him she wasn't scared of being killed because she'd wished for it in every waking moment of her life for several horrible years? And when he inevitably asked _why_ , what would she tell him? How would she even begin to explain the horror her own foolish mistakes had wrought?

She couldn't.

So she didn't.

"Please go get cleaned up, you'll feel better when you've had a bath; Just... Be careful not to get your bandages wet, yeah?" Andi pleaded softly, catching his stubborn gaze and watching as it shifted into something more amicable.  
"I've never met anyone stranger than me before," Michael murmured by way of departure, limping in the direction of the aforementioned bathroom.  
"There's a first time for everything, Mike."  
"Michael." He corrected _her_ this time; she smirked.

As her angsty blonde companion disappeared into the bathroom, Andi set to work preparing their meal. She'd just begun chopping up the vegetables when the shower head turned on and was met with the sharp jingling of a curtain being pulled shut. Their dinner was officially sizzling on the stove when Andi finally pulled herself away long enough to dig up the contents of a box that has been shoved into the farthest corner of her 'bedroom'; if the makeshift space born of folding screens and drapery could even be called as much.  
With a steadying breathe, Andi undid the cardboard flaps one at a time and hesitantly began to dig. She was correct in assuming Andrew's clothes were about Michael's size, though her blonde friend might have an inch or two on Andrew in height. Ankle-waders were better than nothing, though, and if all else failed she could just buy him new stuff.

Rustling through the box at a brisk and somewhat harried pace, Andi retrieved a new-old set of clothes for her friend to change into, and a pair of ratty converse that hopefully might fit. They'd been washed before she packed them away, but _his_ scent clung to the garments still. Three years. Three long, horrible years and she'd never had the heart to throw them out, let alone look at them. How could anything still smell like him after all this time? Andi half-wondered if it wasn't all just in her head.  
Shoving the box back into the depths of the closet where it was condemned to live for all eternity, maybe, Andi carried the bundle of clothes to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "I'll leave these just outside the door for you, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer before returning to the stirfry on the stove.

Briefly, the sound of the water shutting off and the door opening and closing again in quick succession registered in her mind, but with the stirfry nearing completion she didn't bother with more than a rudimentary glance over her shoulder. Andi was distributing the meal onto plates when Michael appeared in her field of vision again, cleaner and calmer now, his old clothes bundled up in his arms like an infant.

"Just toss those in the laundry basket, I'll bring them down to the basement later to wash," Andi gestured towards an empty wicker bin shoved into the corner of what was, more or less, her bedroom. Clothing was draped over it and scattered around it; she definitely needed to go through the trouble of picking up her junk and placing it in the bin for impromptu laundry day.  
"Looks like the clothes fit you." Hard to go wrong with blue jeans and a green sweater but Michael didn't seem as convinced. Having placed the dirty laundry in the bin, he returned to her makeshift kitchen and slid into the nearest empty bar stool.  
"I like my old clothes better," he tugged at the sleeves of the sweater as he spoke, stretching the fabric slightly in an attempt to make it reach past his wrists. On second thought, maybe her brothers clothes weren't a _perfect_ fit, but at least they were clean!

"So, when are we gonna talk about your grandma kicking you out?"  
"When are we gonna talk about your hands stopping a speeding car?"  
"These hands have a place to live--er, well, all of me does, but you know what I mean! Don't you have any other family that might be worried about you? I don't wanna get charged with kidnapping," she teased but Michael didn't smile.  
"No, I don't think they're worried about me at all. Maybe just relieved--You know, you're very good at that, by the way."  
"Good at...?" She trailed off suggestively, unsure what he was referring to.  
"Changing the subject. Most people are obvious when they try, but you manage it in such a way that it feels natural to the flow of conversation. The shift is easy to miss if you're not looking at it."  
"Story of my life," Andi announced with a noncommittal shrug.  
"What else can do you?"  
"Disappoint my ancestors," Andi quipped, setting a steaming plate of stirfry down in front of Michael and the other on the placemat beside him.

"I mean with your gift," he pressed on, ever relentless when he got something stuck in his head, apparently.  
"Feels more like a curse to me," Andi muttered her disagreement, sliding Michael a fork so he could begin eating while she made them drinks.  
"Chocolate milk okay? I've got some energy drinks if you wanna be up all night. Water if you're boring. Sparking water if you're _pretentious_ and boring." Poking her head over the edge of the fridge door, Andi offered the blonde a cheeky smile, "And apple juice if you're twelve," she added as a teasing afterthought, curious to what his favorite drink might be but too lazy and preoccupied to actually stop and ask. Deciding on chocolate milk for herself, Andi fetched a slim round tin of powder from atop the fridge and a half gallon of milk from within.

"Chocolate milk is fine. And you're doing it again. Changing the subject."  
"Dude--come on," Andi pleaded, halfway through free-pouring powder into the second cup of soon-to-be nesquick before flooding them both with milk.  
"It's only ever caused me trouble. Do you really wanna hear about it?" Snatching up a spoon from the dish strainer, she set to work whisking each cup of chocolate milk with a rather agitated pace. To the perceptive, it was clear this subject was haunted ground. Unfortunately for them both, Michael Langdon didn't seem particularly perceptive. That, or perhaps he just didn't care enough to try.

"I've never met anyone else like me, Alexandria." There it was again. The blatant disregard for pre-established boundaries. What did it matter where the line was drawn if that chalk outline was the only thing standing in his way? The dotted mark drawn on the path from where he was and where he wanted to be was nothing more than a wish list for those more unfortunate than him. Andi, while not entirely certain, had a feeling about Michael; It wasn't that he didn't see the signs in front of him, it was that if he didn't like what he saw then he ignored the warnings and pushed forward anyway.

"Still Andi," she corrected him again, setting their drinks down on the counter and returning to her seat. He was stubborn, but she was worse, "So, I'm guessing you can't stop cars--well, maybe with your body, but not in the surviving unscathed kind of way, so check that off the list--”  
“Andi--” He interjected, but she kept going,  
“So what exactly can _you_ do that makes _me_ so fascinating, Michael?"  
" _Andi,_ " his tone was downright pleading then. There really was no avoiding him, was there? He'd just keep on the same subject until he got an answer that satisfied his curiosity. He'd be a teacher's dream, or their worst nightmare, context dependent. The grin fled Andi's lips at Michael's stare bore her down. He was impossible. It was as admirable as it was infuriating. With a quiet sigh, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest as she pondered what was safe to spill and what was best kept under lock and key. Her instincts screamed at her to not say another word, but there were some circumstances you didn't suffer through in silence. She saved his life. 

"My brother and I could make flowers grow," It was such a soft remark that Andi wasn't sure she'd even said it aloud until she continued speaking, surprising even herself as memories flooded back to her, grief standing in their shadow.  
"Not with dirt, rain, and time, like your average gardener might. No, ours was with will and desire. With a single breathe, we made entire gardens bloom between us, ivy covered the walls of our childhood home in seconds, dandelions and dahlia's lined the walkway." Andi's fork was poised above her plate, a chunk of stirfry on one end, but the freckled girl had yet to take a single bite. Michael had no trouble eating and listening at the same time, however, as he happily shoveled a hefty mouthful of food past his lips without so much as a pause for breathe. Damn, was Constance not feeding him? The blonde was giving off bottomless pit vibes for sure.  
  
"My mother was furious, of course. She thought we pulled a prank on her and only got angrier when we wouldn't tell her how we'd done it. My father didn't notice for an entire week, he was so caught up in his own little world." Andi laughed at the memory, recalling in pristine clarity the way he suddenly looked up from his paper one morning and announced 'Why's there ivy covering the window?'  
"Your brother has a gift too then?" This information fascinated Michael, who actually stopped eating long enough to confirm it himself.  
"He had several, actually. He's gone now, though. They all are."  
"Did you...?" Michael seemed to hesitate, unsure of his words. Was she like him in more ways than one?  
"I didn't kill them." Andi lowered her fork and pushed the plate away without ever having taken a bite. How did they end up here? These weren't conversations meant for a stranger to hear. Even if she hadn't set that fire, her hands may as well have struck the match. It was her fault. It had always been her fault. Every moment spent alive while her family rotted in an unmarked grave was a punishment too mild to be hers.  
"I don't want to talk about this anymore, please, Michael. It's hard." Her throat felt tight and raw, every swallow a struggle, every breathe a pain. Her hands balled into fists and retreated to her lap as her gaze burnt a hole in her plate.  
Silence filled the space between them as Michael stopped eating. A single sharp clank of his fork hitting the plate claimed the room in an obtrusive cacophony and immediately died in the same breathe. Neither of them spoke for a minute or so, until Michael moved a careful hand to her shoulder and left it there.

"It's not your fault," he murmured, squeezing gently as he dragged his hand down her arm and rested it atop her palm.  
"It is," she disagreed, pulling herself away from his comforting touch.  
"You're trying to be kind, Michael, and I appreciate the sentiment, I do, but please believe me, _it is._ It always has been my fault. If you knew--" But he didn't know. He didn't know her story. He didn't know the truth. He was trying to comfort a guilty creature and she knew better than anyone that she didn't deserve it.

"One time, I was drawing, and I broke a pen without noticing," Michael changed the subject so swiftly that the shock was enough to shake the sadness out of Andi's senses. Before she could ask him what the fuck he was talking about, he continued on.  
"The pen spilled ink all over my arm, leaked down the leg of the table, stained my jeans, and got all over my grandma's favorite cashmere sweater that was draped over the seat of the chair next to me."  
"That's one hell of a sequitur--"  
"My grandma was really mad at me. She said you can't get ink stains out of cashmere. She said she'd have to throw the sweater out because it was ruined now." Michael's grip loosened, his fingers exploring the softness of her hand, his thumb tracing circles in her skin as he spoke, reliving a recent memory aloud for reasons she'd yet to discern.  
"It was an accident, I'm sure." Andi protested, brow furrowed in mild confusion.  
"Do you think souls are like ink stains? Once you get something on them, you can't ever wash it out? No matter how much you might try?" It was a heavy question hiding there, behind the childlike words and simplistic analogies Michael presented her with. What if she answered wrong?

"No--well, actually, I don't know. I hope not," Andi replied as calmly as she could, but the distraught girl had a feeling that her facial expressions more than gave her away, assuming her phrasing hadn't already.  
"If that's how you feel, then you should stop beating yourself up over past mistakes, don't you think?"  
"What do you mean? This was a lot bigger than some broken pen. People died because of me," Andi shifted, not entirely in discomfort, her palm breaking contact with Michael's for a few fleeting seconds, before she settled in position and his touch returned. She recognized then that the embrace, however fleeting, was more for him than her. He was touching her out of his own desire to be comforted, and not so much her need to be consoled.  
"Even so, if there's still potential for forgiveness, or redemption, then you shouldn't spend all your life in remorse. It's okay to stop punishing yourself."  
"How can you say that?" Andi wrenched herself away from him--or tried to--but his grip would not be so easily escaped, his nails dug into her skin, leaving faint pink claw marks in her flesh, matching pairs to the even fainter white lines that matted the otherwise pale skin of her wrists. He noticed this and curiosity took hold, barreling past societal niceties to tug her arm close until it was level with his gaze.

"Who did this to you?" He demanded, seeming ready to pick a fight with the culprit the second she gave him a name.  
"It doesn't matter--dude, you're so nosy!" She expected him to snap at her, to yell at her, to get angry, to hurt her--she deserved it, didn't see? But Michael did none of the above. Instead, he traced the patterns on her wrist, the misshapen bumps where the skin hadn't healed clean. He looked upset, sad. He knew, didn't he? He knew she'd done it to herself.  
"What if... I just don't feel like I'm ready to be forgiven yet?" This question seemed to stump the blonde, as he fell silent, head bowed, brow furrowed in thought. His lips pursed in a slight scowl as he struggled with his reply.  
"What's the point in hurting yourself?" He finally asked, "What does it accomplish?"

"It makes me feel..." Andi trailed off, looking for the right word.  
"Better?" Michael suggested.  
"Alive," Andi replied.  
"How did stopping that car make you feel?"  
"Pretty fucking rad, not gonna lie," Andi chuckled sheepishly.  
"What if we found other ways to make you feel alive. Ways that didn't punish you anymore."  
"Like how I stopped the car?" What did he expect her to do, go barreling into traffic for fun?  
"Like how you saved my life," Michael corrected, a quiet insistence in his voice.

Something clicked then, as Andi's expression shifted into confusion, awe and relief one by one.  
"I could help other people.--We--we both could! Everybody loves a redemption arc, right? We could do anything we wanted if we did it together." Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or the euphoria of the day playing tricks on her mind, but for the first time in three years, Andi started to feel like maybe things could be different after all.  
"You don't have to feel guilty if you can make amends instead. My grandma used to say that changed behavior was better than just saying sorry any day." A small smile found its way back to Michael's lips then. He really liked this Andi girl, she was a lot nicer to him than his grandma ever was.

"Of course, you'll have to tell me more of what you're capable of," he turned his attention back to his food, digging his fork into the rice and bringing a bite to his lips.  
"You first," Andi insisted, sliding her plate back over and finally taking her first bite of food. She couldn't prove it, but she had the very clear notion that Michael was holding back, in willing possession of something she or her brother might have been cursed with too.  
"It's a longer story than you'd think," he warned, mid-chew, wondering where best to begin.  
"I'm listening," she encouraged him softly, watching as his expression shifted into that of amusement with a wry smirk.  
"It started with a place most would refer to as the Murder House."


	2. An Unexpected Offer

Chaper Two:  
An Unexpected Offer  
Theme Song: Used to the Darkness by Des Rocs

  
While the better half of their evening was spent in quiet discussion--Michael's childhood, Andi's brother, Michael's birthmark, Andi's scars--as the approach of dawn arrived and fled again thanks to blackout curtains Andi was beyond exhausted, more emotionally than physically, but her eyes were burning from being awake so long.

"I don't get it--" she muttered, rubbing her eyelids with the back of her hand. "How can a house just--keep people? Forever? You know that sounds crazy, right? _Hi, my name's Michael, and my dads a ghost that lives in a house where the dead don't die?_ " Andi's imitation of Michael's warm inflection was an octave too high to match but he understood sarcasm when the freckled troublemaker went out of her way to deliver it.  
"Oh, well, why don't you go proposition the neighbors with an offer to summon a hedge maze around the property and we'll see who gets called crazy first," Michael suggested, grinning up at the redhaired girl who had draped herself lazily over the edge of her bed to keep talking with him. A mountain of blankets cushioned the futon beneath him, bringing it to nearly half the height of her framed bed, close enough to touch, if he'd felt so inclined.  
"Oh, okay, 'I can make plants grow fast' versus 'My dad's a ghost', sure Michael, _I'm_ the one really at risk here--"  
"You can't just phrase it like that, you're not a gardener--"

"Right, right, right, and your birthmark? You really think it means something? What are you, Harry Potter?"  
"I'm just saying it burned when that priest started speaking Latin," Michael interjected, hands lazily raising in the universal symbol of surrender.  
“I'm sorry, are we starring in The Exorcist? Do you have any idea what that sounds like?” Andi teased, offering the boy a weak laugh, before gesturing for Michael to turn over slightly.  
"Lemme see it again. I can look up its origins on my laptop--" She started.  
"Are you going to teach me how to hack?" Andi froze, one hand on the back of Michael's neck, her gaze sweeping past the birth mark entirely. The laughter had evaporated in the air between them, her smile melting away to reveal a small frown.  
"No, Michael. It's too dangerous. You know that." Her tone fell flat, quiet in its warning. That particular talent was what had cost her a once happy life. She wouldn't teach it to anyone else.  
"I'm not scared, and it sounds useful. What have we got to lose?"  
"I dunno, maybe our lives? You seem like you'd prefer to keep yours. So, how 'bout we keep the danger to a minimum while you're on the mend, hmm? Speaking of which, how are your wounds? You should be resting so they'll heal faster, by the way." She focused in on the birthmark at last, memorizing its appearance for later, before pulling away and retreating to the corner of her bed. Triple sixes. Maybe they really _were_ starring in The Exorcist.

"Still sore, but not as stiff as earlier," Michael informed her, sprawling out on the futon for emphasis.  
"That's good! I'm still worried about you, though. Last thing I want is for you to go to sleep with a concussion."  
"And here I thought you were just enjoying our time together," Michael teased, stifling a quiet yawn that snuck its way onto the end of his sentence.  
"That too," Andi conceded. "If you start to get dizzy or disoriented, let me know right away?" Tired as she was, she didn't want to just leave Michael at risk. He was her responsibility, after all, seeing as she'd all but dragged him into her home.  
"I think I'm alright. But I'll wake you if anything changes. Promise." His sentiment was reassuring, even if she felt like he ought to be the one being comforted instead of her.

"Okay," Andi reached for the extension cord along the wall, her palm blindly patting the space beneath her bed frame until she located it. With a brush of her fingers, the power switched on and the room was shrouded in a faint lavender hue, accompanied by the quiet him of a whirring fan which filled the small space with white noise and a gentle breeze. Above the duo, carefully placed faerie lights stretched across the length of her ceiling, bestowing their little corner with a warm and comforting glow. It was the only way she could sleep soundly, total darkness and utter silence left her ill at ease.  
  
On the verge of sleep, Andi willingly settled into the lull of unconsciousness, until Michael's voice rang out, just above the volume of the fan.  
"Andi?"  
"Hmm?" She answered without opening her eyes.  
"Thank you for helping me." He sounded sincere, maybe even surprised at her willingness to do so.  
"Anytime, Michael," She promised, turning over onto her side and succumbing to the lure of sleep once more.

* * *

When Andi opened her eyes again, a sea of darkness rose to greet her.  
A foggy moor stretched out across a bruised horizon, melting sunlight having given way to the siren lure of an azure night. The weary girl found her footing, somewhat unsteady, as the dinghy bobbed listlessly in shallow waters.  
Manning their station, or perhaps simply observing the steady sea, was a cloaked figure some feet away. Their face engulfed in fog, whispy tendrils of white curling round a blackened hood, they stood unmoving, barely breathing, eerily still.  
  
"You can't stop time.” It's voice was simultaneously close yet impossibly far. A whisper in ones ear and a raking shout from across the endless icy waters. Though the creature spoke only once, the words repeated themselves several times over. Andi couldn't tell if it was merely her mind playing tricks on her, as all struggles to force herself into focus seemed to make the echoing worse.  
“It flows ever onward, our destination awaiting its arrival-" The creature paused then, head cocking to the side as if listening to a question Andi couldn't hear.  
"No, not always." It replied, continuing on without missing a beat, "Sometimes it moves backwards, down and up again. Like water, it's form separates and joins, filling the space it consumes, consuming the space it fills."  
  
“Who are you?” Andi found her voice and her nerve at the same time, stepping towards the figure in an attempt to get a better look. The figure remained still, but offered no reply. Andi got the feeling that whatever it was, it couldn't hear her. It almost seemed as if the creature—this very moment itself--existed somewhere else, and Andi was just getting glimpses of it through a window, a hole, a tear in the fabric of reality and time.  
“You changed the journey, thinking you've changed the ending. You only changed the stage set to which it bears witness.” Andi was close enough now to almost see its face—a woman?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Andi demanded, reaching for the creature and attempting to clasp a hand on its shoulder to spin it around, only for her palm to ghost right through the figure, causing the unexpected emptiness to knock her off balance. Andi stumbled slightly, tripping forward and into the very spot the creature had been, before righting herself and spinning around, frantically searching for the now very absent being.  
“Where did you go?” Andi called out, her voice echoing across the moors, startling a murder of crows into flight. Silence followed once the crows dispersed, leaving Andi alone on a dingy in blackened waters. She cupped her hands to her lips then, planning to shout this time, but before she could take a single breath, something grasped the boat from beneath the surface of the water, wrenching it upended in one swift momentum and plunging Alexandria Lawson into the abyss. The hands that had claimed the boat reached for her next, dragging her down, kicking and struggling, towards the bottom of the lake, where the inky depths knew her name.   
  
“ANDI!” Bolting upright in bed, the disheveled redhead almost slammed face-first into Michael, who was leaning over her in obvious alarm.   
“What--what is it, Michael, what's wrong?” She stammered, trying to shake off the residual effects of the dream and force her consciousness back into the now.   
“You were crying out in your sleep, I tried to wake you,” Michael explained, concern evident in his features. Was he worried for her? It was such an unfamiliar feeling. Nobody had worried about her in years. She was well accustomed to taking care of herself by now.   
“Oh. I-I'm sorry if I disturbed you,” Andi muttered, unsure what the proper response would be in such unfamiliar territory.  
“Actually, I was already awake,” Michael confessed, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips as his gaze flickered towards the center of the living room. Andi followed the path his eyes took to learn that her television was on and a video game was left at the pause screen.  
Andi forced a breathe through her nostrils as she shook her head in obvious amusement, “I guess that's better than burning the place down while I slept, sure,” she teased. So Michael liked gaming too? Good to know they had something normal in common.   
  
“I didn't think you'd mind,” Michael began to protest, in a saddened form of worry perhaps, or... was it fear? The expression he bore was hard to read, he just looked so distressed all the damn time that it could go either way.  
“You're right, Michael, I don't.” Andi did her best to reassure him, half-awake as she were. Why would she care if he played video games? Not like he smashed the console in a fit of rage or something.   
“You can keep playing, I'm gonna grab a shower and try to wake up.” Andi perched herself on the edge of the bed, taking a steadying breath as her nails sunk into the softened comforter and tangled sheets. Michael didn't move yet, surveying his new friend with a careful gaze.  
“You had bad dreams?” He announced it more than he asked, reading her distraught expression as best as he could. It was familiar to him, the concept of reoccurring nightmares. There was a time a year or so ago where all his dreams were horrifying ones.   
Andi met his gaze with stiffness and uncertainty. He didn't expect her to talk about it, did he?   
“I'm fine,” she lied, avoiding his gaze. She had a feeling he knew. Was her expression really so transparent? She'd always gone out of her way to try and compose a poker face that wouldn't be so easily deconstructed in front of others. She'd never had a problem with it before, perhaps Michael was just intuitive.   
“I used to get them too,” he offered, perhaps in an attempt to find shared grounds.   
“I don't want to talk about it,” Andi shut the conversation down before it could begin. She didn't want to come off as an asshole, but she'd shared enough trauma with the stranger for the last 24 hours. They could skip the dream interpretations for one night.   
  
Shuffling off the edge of the bed, Andi padded barefoot towards her closet and began to rifle through a stack of uneven drawers for something to change into. Settling on a pair of old black jeans, a tank top and a navy flannel shirt, Andi cast the hesitant blonde another glance. She'd expected to hear him settling back onto the couch to resume his video game, instead she found him hovering in the entryway between what little corner-space qualified as her bedroom, and the living room where his video game was still on pause. His face was scrunched up into an expression of anguish and hurt. Had she said something to upset him?  
  
“Are you... angry with me, Andi? Please, please don't be mad, I'm sorry--”  
“No, no, Michael. Michael, I'm not mad. I just don't wanna talk about my bad dreams, okay? It's nothing you did.” For fucks sake, he was like a traumatized child in the body of a teenager. Every little thing seemed to set him off. Maybe it was something he'd grow out of? Or maybe he just needed a goddamn therapist. The disbelief on his face felt like a stab in the heart.   
“You're sure you're not mad? I didn't mean to upset you, I was just trying to help--”

“Hey, hey, listen to me,” Andi closed the space between them, hands moving to cup Michael's cheeks so she had his full attention. “Listen. You did nothing wrong. We're fine. Do you understand?” The blonde nodded helplessly, his expression wrought with uncertainty. He wanted to believe. She needed him to. The alternative would be too maddening.   
“Okay, good. Now I'm gonna get that shower, I'll be done fast. Think about what you want for breakfast in the meantime. I've got eggs and sausage for sure, and I think pancake mix in a shelf somewhere. So, there's options,” Andi shot him a reassuring smirk before tapping his cheek playfully and pulling away.

Gathering up the clothes she'd left behind, Andi disappeared into the bathroom immediately after, setting the pile onto the toilet lid for lack of anywhere else to put them. The bathroom was especially small, lacking in any proper counter space, so she used shelves to store her belongings and made do with what small space could be salvaged beside and below the sink. Wriggling free of her crumpled attire and kicking it into the corner of the bathroom, Andi stepped into the tub and dragged the curtain shut behind her, the jostling of plastic rings against metal filling the quiet room with an almost melodic sound.  
Turning on the shower head, Andi shivered in the blast of icy cold water that greeted her skin. She fiddled with the knobs and stood back from the stream as it shifted from cold to lukewarm. Andi should have known the hot water would be used up in the building this time of day. Showers were best taken in the early morning or the dead of night if you wanted anything remotely resembling heat. Still, luke-warm was better than none at all, so the wiry creature made short work of her bathing, focusing primarily on her hair, which had a tendency to become frustratingly oily rather quick for such a short cut.

In the still of the steaming room, Andi found herself at a loss for constructive thought. Yesterday was careless. Dangerous. Foolish. It was a stupid choice to take Michael in, and she'd prided herself on avoiding stupid choices since her family's death. What if he was a trap? What if the Cooperative had tracked her down and manipulated a situation they knew she'd respond to? All the effort in changing her appearance, her paperwork, her identity, it would have been a waste. All the time spent scrubbing every trace of her old self out of existence, swallowed up in the eyes of a terrified boy. If Michael Langdon _was_ a trap, then he was the perfect one, because even Andi didn't think she had it in her to cast him out. Not after how vulnerable he seemed last night. Not after promising him he wouldn't have to leave.

“You're just paranoid,” Andi hissed to herself, resting her forehead against the cold tile of the shower wall. If they'd wanted her, they'd have had her last night when she slept. Michael Langdon was _not_ part of the Cooperative. He couldn't be. She was just at the wrong place at the right time and saved his life. It didn't get any deeper than that. Andi didn't feel convinced, but by the time the water turned cold, it didn't matter anymore.   
Turning the handles counter-clockwise, she shut the shower off and reached for the towel left draped atop the pile of clothes on the toilet lid. Drying herself off and dressing in clean clothes was a hasty affair, it was her hair that always caused problems, and Andi was dismayed at the thought of having to drag a comb through it.   
Bundling her pile of dirty clothes and damp towel together, Andi exited the bathroom and dropped them in the wicker bin in her bedroom before padding back out into the living room where Michael had returned to his video game.   
  
Collecting her comb from a nearby shelf, Andi glanced to the screen, where a figure in a gray hoodie and white smiley-face mask stalked a group of survivors through an endless foggy wood. Silently, she began to drag the comb through her tangled hair, watching as Michael directed his killer across the forest map, tracking down four unlucky individuals and ending their virtual lives on the sharp end of a hook.  
“You're pretty good at that,” Andi noted, while wrestling with a particularly stubborn knot.

Michael only barely glanced her way, offering a small, pleased smirk in return.   
“Thanks! I've played it before,” he chuckled, mid-way through a chase, having just avoided a pallet stun by sheer luck, before looping around a window vault to cut the survivor off upon landing.  
“They never look behind them at these ranks, it's almost too easy,” Michael added, his words half-obscured by a pained scream as his blade made contact with a girl in a bright green shirt.

The survivor limped away, leaving a glistening blood trail in her wake, which Michael's character chased after in frenzied pursuit of the injured girl. All too swiftly, Michael was upon her again, ending the chase with a flick of his blade and carrying the crumpled creature to a nearby hook. A blackened spider-like entity swallowed the girl up and ended the match. All four survivors dead, the entity was pleased with Michael's performance, and the blonde haired boy leaned back in his seat to skim the after-match results, a jumble of numbers and categories that Andi wasn't wholly immersed in. The few times she'd played the game, she only focused on the total points scored in the end, not the method of which she'd scored them.  
  
“Look at you, slaughtering all those innocent teenagers and—uh, one random old man?”   
“Well, they shouldn't have trespassed on my property. It was self defense,” Michael joked, setting the controller down and turning his attention to Andi, a satisfied little grin on his lips. He seemed especially pleased with himself for the 4k, more-so that Andi was watching while he did it. Seemed there was a bit of an ego on him.

“So, breakfast?” Michael chimed hopefully, bright eyes level on the girl before him as she finished untangling her still-damp hair.   
“Breakfast,” Andi agreed, setting her comb back down on the shelf she'd retrieved it from and padding over to the kitchen cabinets to rummage through them for their next meal.   
“Did you decide on what you wanted?” She inquired, grabbing the box of pancake mix from the topmost shelf and lowering it onto the counter.   
“It looks like _you_ want pancakes,” Michael teased.  
“Mhmm. But I can make you something else,” Andi offered. It wasn't as if they had anywhere to be, so taking a few more minutes to whip up french toast or eggs wouldn't be much trouble.   
“Fried eggs and toast?” Michael suggested, to which Andi agreed.   
“You got it, kid.” Andi was already reaching for the frying pan when Michael's incredulous scoff reached her ears.   
“I'm taller than you,” he protested in mock-affront, his grin twisting into something closer to a sneer.   
“I'm taller on the inside!” Andi stood on her toes, leaning over the counter to compare herself to the boy.   
“That's not how skeletons work,” he delivered with a deadpan expression. He looked so unimpressed that Andi almost mistook his teasing for sincerity.

“What would you know about bones? Your grandma did all the dirty work for you.” For a moment Andi wondered if she'd gone a bit too far, but to her relief Michael smiled and leaned his elbows on the counter, chin resting in his palms.   
“And does that make you the resident expert?”   
“Defacto. Unless you see another person in the room?” Andi made a show of glancing around, as if some specter might creep up from the shadows at any moment. Michael rolled his eyes at her antics, but she could tell he was enjoying them, his smile never faded, not for a second. Unlikely as it seemed, Michael Langdon was turning out to be good company.   
  
“You want to watch something while we eat? A movie, maybe?” Michael suggested, pulling himself away from the kitchen counter long enough to fiddle with the t.v. remote.  
“I have some old shows I recorded, been meaning to get around to those, if you're interested? I hate commercials, so I tend to just tevo shit when it airs and fast-forward through the ads later.” A movie would take up too much time and Andi didn't always have the energy or patience to sit them through. Shows were shorter and therefore easier to handle in careful, bite-sized quantities.   
Wordlessly, Michael offered Andi the remote so she could turn on the first episode of a show she had recorded. It took the redhead little more than a handful of seconds to pick something that seemed low-investment, an episodic series with a tired laugh track interjected between lines of scripted dialogue, delivered by an ensemble of unlikely and slightly obnoxious friends. Accepting the device back, the blonde sunk down into a corner seat of the couch to watch.  
  
With her back to the tv, half listening as witty banter sounds off from one character to the next, Andi carefully cracks an egg into a well-oiled pan, watching as the whites sizzle on contact, curling up at the corners as heat seeps into the center yoke.   
“Over easy?” She calls out, realizing it might have been smarter to ask how he wanted his eggs _before_ she dumped them into the frying pan.

“Well done.” He shoots back, to which Andi stiffens noticeably, brow furrowing in confusion as she spins around on the boy to offer him a puzzled expression.   
“That's for steak, not eggs.” Wasn't it?   
“You get what it means, like, hard yoke, fully cooked whites,” he protests, leaning over the edge of the couch to elaborate on whatever the hell a well done egg was. Behind him, the image on the screen had begun to speed up, hurrying through the episode's contents—and its commercials—at an alarming rate.

“Uh, Michael...” Andi pointed at the screen but Michael didn't budge, already rambling on about the specifics of his eggs.

“I think you're leaning on the remote!”   
“I think you're burning my eggs.”  
Andi spun around to tend to the smoking pan while Michael fumbled for the remote that had slid beneath his knees and wedged itself into a corner of the couch cushion.   
As Andi snuck the spatula beneath the very 'well done' egg, she heard an unfamiliar voice speaking from the TV. It didn't belong to any of the regular cast of the show, and the subject matter wasn't something she'd ever heard the sitcom discuss before.   
  
“So, what would you like to say to all the girls watching and wondering if they might be witches?”

“I think we went past the recorded episode, Michael--” Andi glanced his way but he seemed to be invested in whatever was playing after it. On the screen, a blonde woman calmly sat across from an interviewer, a telephone number displayed on a bottom banner beneath the chatting duo.

“Call us, email us, or just come to New Orleans, there is a home and a family waiting for you.”  
  
“How old is this recording, Andi?” Michael asked, already rewinding to reach the start of the interview, which had apparently been part of a news segment that aired shortly after the episode ended. Andi was shoveling burnt eggs onto a plate when she paused to assess the subject matter. Something about witches? _Real ones_? It was on the news, so she didn't think it was some sort of parody, but that didn't automatically make it accurate information either.   
“The show aired a few months ago, so… sometime last year, I guess? Why do you ask?”  
Without offering her an answer, Michael launched up from his seat and moved towards Andi's bedroom. “Can I borrow your laptop?” He called out, leaving a bewildered Andi standing in the kitchen with a burning pan and a confused head space.  
“Uh. Sure. W _hy_?” She asked, shutting off the oven and setting the pan aside to focus more wholly on whatever Michael had cooking up in that head of his.   
Returning to the couch with laptop in hand, Michael immediately opened up Google and started typing something into the search engine.   
“Witches, Andi. Don't you see it? We're witches. The things we can do. The things we couldn't explain. It's magic. We're not—freaks or monsters or--or cursed, we're _magic._ There's other people just like us out there.”  
Well wait just a damn second, what the hell was he going on about?!

“You don't even know if that lady is legit, Michael. She could be a total psychopath!”   
“You think people wouldn't look at what I've done and say the same?” Michael chided.  
“ _You're_ not a con-artist,” Andi's tone softened, as if slightly hurt by his rebuttal.  
“She was on the news, Andi,” he scoffed, as if that meant she was the most trustworthy of sources. As far as Andi was concerned, Michael was blissfully naïve.  
“People lie on the news, Michael, don't trust the media.”   
“I just want to see what she says. Look, they've got a website--” Michael turned the screen so Andi could watch as a webpage layout loaded instantaneously, showcasing a gorgeous white house first and foremost. The words 'Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies' was displayed neatly beneath the photograph in a flourishing elegant font.

“It seems promising, look at how much work they put into the front page alone!” Michael was hooked already, Andi could tell by the excitement rippling off his skin in waves.   
“What, like it's hard? So they have a decent graphic designer. Anybody can make anything look good on the internet.”  
“Andi! For potential enrollee's they have tours! We could take the tour?”  
“In New Orleans?!” How the hell did he expect them to get there? Andi barely had money to pay her rent on time, she couldn't just drop 1k on two tickets to New Orleans on a whim.   
“They have a garden~” Michael clicked through tempting photographs of a sprawling expanse, ones that led Andi to wonder if the garden was tended to by hand or with magic. No. No, it didn't matter! They weren't going!

  
“That school is for _girls_ , Michael,” Andi was insistent on shutting this fantasy down. She'd been so careful not to expose her old life to anyone. A school on the news, full of witches no less? It was just begging for media attention.   
“Maybe they have a boys dorm they didn't mention?” It seemed that Michael would not be so easily deterred.   
“Or _maybe_ they're a giant ruse set on taking advantage of wealthy vulnerable teenagers that are self-proclaimed Wiccans.”   
“They have an entrance exam!"  
“So does the military, doesn't make it a good idea.”  
“I'm sending her an email, Andi. Just—trust me on this one, okay?”

Trust him? She barely knew him! One heartfelt night together didn't mean they were best friends! Why should she let him take the lead on this? Her whole future hung in the balance and keeping a low profile was the best way to avoid being found out.   
“Michael, I don't think this is a good idea.” He wasn't listening, too busy frantically typing away his stupid email to some con artist named Cordelia in New Orleans.  
“ _Michael,_ would you just listen to me--” Andi reached for the laptop but he wrenched it away, setting it down next to him and turning to face her with a steely gaze. He looked angry.   
  
“What about last night?” His tone was accusatory. Andi wasn't following along.  
“What about it?” She repeated his words back to him, only hers sounded clueless by comparison.  
“Helping other people. Making amends. Changed behavior. Didn't that mean anything to you? Because it meant something to me.”  
“Of course it meant something to me--” she began, but he cut her off with a stony glare.  
“Then why are you so against this? Don't you think it could be fate? Us meeting? That news segment? All of the pieces are falling into place and you want to run away from it? Ignore it?”  
“You don't understand the risk!” Exposing herself to a bunch of strangers? For what? A couple of classes on tarot card readings and a free incense burner? It was stupid! Her life wasn't worth the cost of some cheap parlor tricks!  
"You're right! I don't understand. Whatever it is you're scared of, whatever it is you're hiding from, I don't get it at all. And if you don't tell me, I'll never get it. But, Andi, _but_ , if anyone could protect you—from anyone—they could do it. They're like us, but stronger. Imagine our abilities, but controlled, trained, practiced.”

Reaching for Andi's hands, Michael pulled them into his own, tugging her down into the open seat beside him.   
“If we knew how to harness these powers, we could protect each other. I'm not saying we move right in and call it home. I'm saying we give it a chance? If it's a trick, we come back here and we figure it out by ourselves.”  
“You make it sound so easy...” Andi trailed off dismissively.  
“Because you're making it sound too hard. If they're fake, we'll know right away, won't we? Since you'll be on high alert, after all.”  
“It's gonna take me a while to get the money for New Orleans, Michael.” She'd need a job on the down-low. Something fast and clever. She had the contacts for it, sure, hacking gigs had made her money on several occasions over the years, but... ever since losing her family to them she didn't enjoy pulling those strings. Were they seriously going to do this? For real?

“If this turns out to be a waste--” Andi hesitated, weren't high payoffs worth high risks?  
“It won't be.” He reassured her with a squeeze of his hands, before releasing his hold on her and moving the laptop back into his lap. “I'm sending her an email right now. I'll keep you posted. Eggs and toast?”   
“Eggs and toast.” Reluctantly, Andi rose to her feet and padded back into the kitchen. What the hell had she gotten herself into?


	3. The Coffee Shop

Chapter Three:  
The Coffee Shop  
Thursday, October 29th 2015  
Theme Song: Sinners by Barns Courtney (played at 1.25x Speed)

As the final fading stretch of sunlight spilled through the glass windows of Last Drop, a weary Andi Lawson adjusted her laptop angle to avoid the glare. Peeking up over its edge, she peered at the back of the man seated a few feet away, her intended target for the evening had arrived half an hour after she had, seating himself close enough that it spared her the trouble of having to casually relocate.  
Scowling at her computer screen as a mock-error message popped up, Andi leaned back in her chair, doing her best to look appropriately stumped and frustrated. The error message was a fake, a program she’d thrown together on a whim for fun one evening. It had served her surprisingly well over the past three years. Apart from the program, if there was one additional thing Andi could always rely on, it was her victims ability and willingness to believe that she was dumber than them.

“Oh come on! Why won’t you work?” Andi whined, unplugging and re-plugging a small removable usb drive from the port a few times for emphasis, as if she’d really taken the age old advice of ‘did you try turning it off and back on again’ to heart.   
Her whimpering and the electronic beeping of a device being repeatedly removed and inserted into a port caught the mans attention and held it, exactly as she’d hoped it would. Turning to face the pretty redhead, the bespectacled young man cleared his throat in her direction,

“Hi, uhm, sorry to interrupt, but maybe I can help you with that? I’m a bit tech savvy,” he chuckled sheepishly, obviously trying to downplay his abilities. It was a good thing Andi was well-versed in the art of resting bitch face, because it took a fair bit of willpower not to roll her eyes, but instead to appear both ridiculously relieved and grateful for his offer.  
“Oh my gosh. Yes, please. I’m so sorry, I don’t even know what’s going on. My laptop is being really stupid and I can’t get the files on the usb to open! It’s talking about reformatting or something? I’m so lost! Do you think you could plug it into yours and see if it works for you? At least that way I’ll know whether the problem is my laptop or the usb itself.” Andi plucked the usb drive free from its port and handed it to the gentleman, watching with a masked intensity as he plugged it into his own laptop without even a second thought. She all but breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. One of these days, this helpless damsel act was going to stop working. But thankfully today was not that day.  
  
“Seems to be functioning alright for me,” the man noted with a soft hum of approval, glancing over the dummy folders in the usb that held nothing of particular note, an artful front that carefully masked the virus slowly infecting his system with every passing second that the usb remained in contact with it. She only needed a minute or so to get the job done, but the longer he let it sit, the more at ease she became.   
“Weird. It must be something wrong with my laptop. I’ve never had this happen before,” Andi continued on with her mock-confusion and chatted up the poor sap for a few more minutes, letting him try and troubleshoot her problems with helpful suggestions, before finally accepting the usb back from him and tucking it safely into the pocket of her bag.  
  
Returning to her seat, she watched on as the man quickly realized that not all was as it had been before. A slight lag where there hadn’t been any originally, a file refusing to close after three clicks, his email taking longer to load than usual. A few careful keystrokes from her own laptop and a moment later the man received an email that would urgently request him to return to his workplace, cutting his lunchbreak short. No time to stop and look into the odd behavior of the laptop, it would just have to wait. Such a shame.

“Thank you for trying to help!” Andi called out after the good samaritan, smiling rather genuinely in his direction. His helpfulness had been his downfall, after all. _Pity._ Andi smirked at the unsuspecting sap’s backside as he gathered his belongings and left the cafe, a taut expression of confusion and concern evident in his features.  
  
“Sucks to suck,” she chuckled, fishing her burner phone out from the pocket of her jeans and sending a quick message to a contact with no name, only a number.  
‘Deed is done. Pay up.’ An automatic update from her bank account informing her of a direct deposit arrived just before the reply from the number did. ‘Pleasure doing business with you.’ It was a pleasure, wasn't it?  
  
Confident that she was now a few thousand dollars richer and that the poor stranger she’d just tangled with was going to have one hell of a headache to deal with when the virus in his laptop transferred to every computer in his workplace via the shared network, Andi decided to grab a cup of coffee to celebrate. Carefully packing up her own belongings, Andi moved to the front of the coffee shop, ordering a caramel macchiato and a green tea latte to go. Forgoing a paper tray, Andi dropped a twenty into the tip jar and flagged down Michael from the street corner outside, where he'd been making idle conversation with a clothing vender for the past 15 minutes.  
  
“That was faster than I expected,” Michael announced by way of greeting, speaking low enough that they wouldn't be overheard. Accepting the caramel macchiato from Andi a moment later, the blonde took a large sip of the sweetened beverage and flashed his companion a cheeky grin by way of thanks.  
“They don't always go over that smoothly, we got lucky.” _We._ It _was_ 'we' now, wasn't it? Living with someone for nearly two months had a way of shifting ones prerogative slightly. Meals were planned for two. Toiletries were bought for two. Laundry was washed for two. And now, apparently, scams were run for the benefit of two.  
  
“You ever feel bad about that stuff? Or regret any of the people affected by it?”   
“Why feel bad for a man that cheated on his wife three times with her sister? My only regret is that I wasn't getting paid to fuck the sister over. Don't get me wrong—sometimes mistresses are totally oblivious, and in those cases I'd never seek retribution on an innocent party. But your own sister? They knew exactly what they were doing.”  
“Do you always make it a point to take jobs that hurt bad people?”  
“Of course! Y'know, like Robin Hood!” If Andi could encourage Michael to use his own talents in such ways, then the two of them would be one hell of a team. That was the plan, at least.  
“Huh?” Michael paused drinking long enough to glance at Andi as if she'd mispoken.  
“He… steals from the rich and gives to the poor?” Who didn't know about Robin Hood at his age?  
“Who does?” He... _wasn't_ kidding, was he?  
“Robin Hood,” Andi repeated, as if her emphasis on the name would make it click. Michael simply shook his head, a bewildered expression settling on his face. Andi couldn't help but laugh. Of course the sheltered troublemaker didn't know about Robin Hood. Grammy probably considered it wasteful literature.

“Don't worry about it. Any word from Miss Robichaux's herself?” Michael had sent his email out the day they discussed the academy. It was starting to piss Andi off that Cordelia hadn't found the time to reply. They threw themselves out on a limb here, and she couldn't be bothered to shoot back a 'sorry, we're full' message?  
“Not yet, but I'm sure she'll get back to us soon. They get hundreds of applicants, Andi. They can't reply to everyone same-day.”  
“Yeah, or maybe they just can't be bothered to reply to boys,” Andi pointed out the obvious, still quite adamant that the website made it crystal fucking clear that Robichaux's was an all girls school. Michael wouldn't be allowed in, so why they were shoving all their eggs in one basket was beyond her reasonings.

“You haven't spoken a word to this woman and you hate her already. You're hardly being fair.”   
“I don't have to be fair. I don't owe her fair. I don't owe her anything!” Telling Michael the truth, that she didn't want to be potentially separated from him, was harder than telling him the easy lie: that Cordelia sounded pretentious, that the school seemed uppity, that her magic didn't need anyone’s tutoring. The list she could prattle off at any given moment was seemingly endless. Michael's ability to believe each and every one of her lies, was... arguably less so.

“We can just go to New Orleans at this rate. Hard to ignore us if we show up at her doorstep,” Michael suggested, falling in step beside Andi as they winded their way through the surrounding outdoor market.  
“Because we're the only unlikely duo that could have possibly planned to show up at the school as a means of side-stepping or expediting the enrollment process,” Andi jeered.  
“You're being negative again,” Michael reminded her to which she fell silent in response. She had a habit of spiraling into paranoia that made clear thoughts blurry. Michael had taken to pointing these moments out to pull her back before she could descend too far down. Andi didn't reply right away however, she'd paused to jam her thumb somewhat aggressively against a cross walk beacon and was waiting for the light to turn. Michael, meanwhile, had fished his own phone from his pocket—a cheap, no contract android that Andi had bought him–and was checking his email while they waited for the traffic to stop. Just as the cars came to a slow, Michael excitedly announced, “She replied!” Andi took hold of his arm to pull him along while he skimmed through the email, murmuring bits and pieces of its contents aloud.

“Max capacity, influx of applicants, winter semester...hmm. They're full.” He sounded disappointed. Andi didn't say it, but she genuinely felt relieved. Once they reached the opposite sidewalk, Michael offered her the phone, "Here. Do you want to read it?”   
“Do I have a choice?” She accepted the phone from him and read the email, dawdling along behind him at a slowed pace to avoid stumbling into anything.  
  
 _Michael,_  
  
 _Thank you for your interest in Miss Robichaux's Academy, we regret to inform you that at this point in time our location has reached max capacity after an influx of applicants due to recent media coverage._

_With Robichaux's position in the modern world as welcome harbingers of potential scholars and artists of gifted origin, we encourage all healthy pursuits of magical interests, and many tools for self-led study and guidance can be found in the 'Tools' section of our website. Though it pains us to turn anyone away, at this point in time we simply have no room to comfortably house more members. However, we strongly encourage applicants to reapply at a later date in time.  
It prides us to state that Robichaux students regularly_ _move on to pursue new passions, goals and/or work in their chosen fields. As such, Robichaux will be happy to welcome new members to our family with open arms in the coming semesters of next year, and we fondly look forward to hearing from you again at that time._

_For more information on upcoming events, future semesters, or self-led study, please click the embedded link._

_We thank you again for contacting us, and wish you luck in all future endeavors.  
  
_ _Regards,_   
_Cordelia Goode_   
_Reigning Supreme_

“She took a month to send you a copy-paste deferral letter,” Andi scoffed, practically disgusted at this point. Did Cordelia even stop to read his email before spamming him with such a blasé reply? Why even bother accepting emails if you weren't equipped to handle the response you'd get? She was probably swarmed with would-be Wiccans and Harry Potter enthusiasts, convinced they were 'special' too. People like Michael and herself went unnoticed when fakes screamed much louder than folks accustomed to making themselves invisible.  
  
“I told you she's a busy woman. The only way we'll get an ounce of her time is to see her face to face. Once we're there, we can show her our skills.” Michael accepted his phone from Andi, tucking it back into his pocket and picking up his pace with renewed vigor. He really wasn't going to let a little rejection email get him down, was he?   
“Right, I'll just waltz in there with a bouquet in hand saying 'I made these myself!' and she'll really be swayed. She wouldn't assume I bought them off a street vender or anything!”   
“When I set them on fire and turn them to ash with a glance? And you bring them back to life in the very next breathe? She'll be looking.”  
“I dunno. The last time you practiced that, you set the couch on fire; I can't rebloom synthetic polyester.” Andi knocked into Michael with a nudge of her shoulder, smirking slightly.   
“Only because it isn't plant based, you're not thinking broadly enough!” Right. There it was again, that desire to press forward at all times. He always wanted Andi to try, try, try again. Try something new. Try something different. Try something a second time. If it weren't for his naivety and youth, she'd think he'd make a good professor on his own.   
“I think it's too risky to go anywhere right now. We still don't know where your mystery assailant has gone off to. It's bold enough being out in broad daylight like this. What if she rounds a corner and barrels us down?” As if to place emphasis on the growing feelings of paranoia, Andi took a moment to quickly glance behind them and to either side. No following cars, no one else on foot. Coast was still clear.

“What do I have to worry about with you on my side? I'll protect you by force and you'll protect me in form.” He was so confident, it bordered on arrogance.  
“I've never used my magic on people, Michael!”  
“Just speeding cars and house plants,” he teased, but Andi didn't even smile.  
“You know, not everyone is as confident as you!” Truly, ever since he'd healed up from the crash, practically overnight as it were, Michael had been more energetic and more driven than any boy she'd ever met.  
“To be fair, the human body is 70% water anyway, we're all just cucumbers with anxiety, confidence is a myth. Anyway, I think you'll do fine. And if you don't—well, you've got me.” He made it sound so damn easy.

“I wish I believed in me half as much as you believe in you,” Andi scoffed, rolling her eyes as she fished her keys from her pocket and approached the familiar stairway that she and Michael had ascended and descended again a dozen or so times since meeting. The fire escape had been deemed unnecessary after the first few trips to and from the apartment. Now, with Michael's assailant having quietly disappeared into obscurity, the duo felt much more comfortable entering through the front door, rather than the back windows. While they remained ever vigilant as default, entering through the door on the other side of the building no longer felt as if it made much of a difference. If someone was determined to find them, looping around the building would likely be the first thing they thought to do.

“Bold of you to assume I believe in me much at all,” Michael joked, sheepishly glancing away from Andi as they made the ascent to her apartment floor.   
“Sounds like something I would say. Am I rubbing off on you?” Andi teased in turn, only for the grin to flicker away from her face as she caught sight of a familiar form lingering in the hallway outside her apartment.   
“Dunno. Are you?” A male voice inquired, eying the duo with apparent disdain.   
“Taemin, I told you not to come back here,” Andi hissed, recognizing the dark-haired man as a particularly toxic ex of hers. Judging by the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes smoke wafting off an unwashed jacket, he hadn't changed much in the last few months.   
“I can't check in on a friend?” He inquired, a smug grin settling in on ashen features. He brushed a strand of greasy hair out of his face and flashed Andi a smile that bordered on lecherous. She could remember a time when she'd found him handsome. Now, the sight of the heavily tattooed man made her cringe.

“We aren't friends. Not anymore. Please leave.”   
“This your new boyfriend? Didn't think you'd go for someone with such a mommy's little helper look to him. Or maybe you're just babysitting? Tell sport to go on home, I can pay double for your time.”  
“Fuck off,” Andi brushed past Taemin and moved towards her door, planning to head inside with Michael and lock Taemin's ass out.  
“Hold it, Ands. I just wanna talk.” Taemen hedged a foot in the door, resting the full weight of his shoulder against its upper half to block Andi from closing it.  
“I miss you,” his tone was soft and pleading. Once upon a time, she'd have found it alluring, enduring even. Now, with Michael staring the man down at her back and Taemin reeking of cheap vodka, she couldn't find an ounce of interest left in her to spare.  
“I don't,” Andi wrenched on the door, shifting Taemin slightly, but he didn't move beyond an inch, if that.  
“Can we please just talk for a minute? I tried to call you--”  
“Changed my number. You might have better luck with whoever gets that one next though.”   
“It was an old guy,” he muttered.  
“Hey, I don't judge,” Andi shrugged but Taemin appeared unamused.   
“Just give me five fucking minutes, Andi!” Taemin's fist met the wood of the door which cracked beneath his force like a spiders web, but somehow didn't shatter. The sudden noise startled Andi into a small jump, leading her to take a half-step back, in case his fists came swinging towards her next.  
“She asked you to go several times. Now you need to leave!” Michael swept in then, fixing himself between Taemin and Andi with a scowl on his face. Knowing either man's history, Andi felt her anxiety skyrocket. Taemin might pull a weapon. Michael wouldn't need one.

Taemin grit his teeth and sized Michael up with a quick gaze. The blonde had a few inches of height on him, but was considerably slimmer in muscle. Andi had very little doubt that Michael would outdo him in speed, at least. Months—years?--worth of drug use in Taemin had slowed his reactions and numbed his pain response. He'd never last in a battle of wits, but he'd do too much damage if he boiled over. He was like a freight train, in that manner. Easy to spot, easy to dodge, but deadly once he managed to get right on top of you.   
  
“What are you, her guard dog?” Taemin laughed, forcing Michael back with a rough shove in Andi's direction. Andi's hand jerked up towards Michael's back to steady him, but he didn't need her help. He took a step forward, his gaze narrowing and fists clenching.   
“Michael, no,” Andi whispered, resting a hand on his arm and tugging him nearer to her. They couldn't risk a scene. If the cops got lured to her apartment, their faces would be all over the news. His assailant would spot him and her cover would be destroyed. She couldn't put them both in danger like that.  
“Better listen to your babysitter, _Michael._ Don't wanna get in trouble with mommy,” Taemin sneered, twitchy hands hovering above his jacket pockets. What was he packing? A knife or a gun? Andi didn't want to find out.  
“Look, I'll give you my new number. Just go, okay? I can't deal with your shit right now,” Andi reached into her pocket to retrieve her card. Handwritten on a black pre-printed square was her most recent burner phone. She used it for business, but she changed them up regularly to avoid anyone getting too cozy with their contacts. If she needed to reach someone, she had other methods, after all. Taemin accepted the card and pressed it to his lips in a sly kiss. Andi resisted the urge to gag.

“See you, Michael,” he winked and rounded the corner, taking the stairs down two at a time. Andi didn't move until she heard the front door swing open and slam shut behind him to signal he was finally gone.  
“You shouldn't have done that,” Michael announced once Andi had entered the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him.   
“He wouldn't have left without it.” Unclear, actually. But it was the faster route of being rid of him. She could ignore a call. She couldn't ignore the cops. Not for long, anyway.  
“He'll come back,” Michael slunk down onto the couch with a heavier thump than usual. His hands were still balled into fists. His mouth still twisted into a sneer. She could practically _hear_ his teeth grating.  
“Maybe. But we won't be here, will we? Because we're going to New Orleans? ….aren't we?” The mention of it was like watching a gif play in reverse. Michael's shoulders untensed, his jaw relaxed, his palms loosened. 'New Orleans' was the magic word, it seemed.

“When are we leaving?” Michael glanced towards a pile of unfolded laundry sitting on the couch, was he so ready to pack and be off? What would she do once he'd gotten his hopes up so high they couldn't do much else but fall?  
“Soon as we get you a fake ID. Can't exactly catch a flight without one.” Even if he had a real one, neither of them had access to it now.  
“How long will that take? We paid for that weeks ago.” Sharp memory of his, damn.  
“Two--three days, tops. It's already in the mail. Just waiting on mister postman. Relax.”  
“Why would you have it mailed? What if someone opens it?” Yeah, okay, paranoia-man.  
“Who the fuck's gonna open my mail? It's a plain, white paper. It's not like they plastered 'I'M A FAKE ID!' on the face of the envelope.”  
“I just don't want anything to slow us down.” Michael flopped onto the couch, half-landing on the balled up laundry, shoving it aside with his elbow.  
“Got a hot date you're meeting up with in New Orleans? What's your rush?”  
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Michael teased. Andi shot him an annoyed glance but said nothing.

“By the way, did you ever look into my birthmark?” Michael brought it up so casually that Andi almost believed him. Yet the timing felt... _intentional_. Too close for coincidence. She had the sudden unexplainable feeling that he'd looked into it too.   
“I did.” Andi settled down into the nearest open seat, her back leaning against the kitchen counter, her palms dragging across the thighs of her jeans. She already knew where the conversation was going, its destination perfectly clear, but she dreaded its arrival.  
“And what did you find?” Michael turned to face her, seeking her gaze but avoiding it at the same time, looking past her, in thought.  
“It's… it's stupid. And probably just coincidence—”  
“Tell me anyway,” he demanded and she obliged.  
“It's the mark of the beast.” Cringe. Saying it out loud definitely made it feel much worse than reading it had been.  
“I see.” Did he? Because Andi got the feeling that she and Michael were viewing this information in a very different lens.  
“Michael—It's like, made up--Biblical bullshit. Not real. Not factual.”  
“From what I've read, it means I'm the antichrist,” Michael announced, his gaze darkening as his head tilted downward, sclera appearing flooded with black—no, wait, it was a trick of the light. When Andi looked closer, they were perfectly white.  
“No. No, it doesn't--” What a fucking leap, did he really buy into that religious mania talk?  
“And why is that?” His voice was stern, almost lacking an inflection, like every inch of him was made of stone, right down to his tone.  
“ _Why?!_ Because that's insane, Michael, that's why! We already have our answer. You're magic. A witch—warlock? _Whatever._ You're not the antichrist. You're not some weird holy—demon _thing_ —we're not—you're not—this isn't about God, or the Devil, or any of that. Come on! Are you hearing yourself?” Andi was stumbling over her own words in a haste to make more sense to Michael that whatever junk he'd been reading.   
“But it makes the most sense, doesn't it? That is, if you consider my upbringing—the murder house—everything I've done—” No. No fucking way! She was shutting this down right now.  
“It doesn't make you the Devils son. That's a pretty big stretch. That's legit crazy talk.”  
“Then what does it make me, Andi? What other explanation do you have for a history as blood-stained as mine?”  
“It's a birthmark. It doesn't _need_ an explanation, Michael. It doesn't have to mean anything.” Andi was pleading with him now, brow furrowed and shoulders squared. Judging by the uncertain expression on Michael's face, he didn't believe her take in the least.  
  
“What would you even do if you were the antichrist, huh? Go worship the devil? Start a cult in his name? Take over the world?” Andi sighed, not understanding Michael's fixation on such a far-fetched concept.  
“The antichrist is destined to reign hell upon the earth, the bringer of the end times...” Michael's voice had quieted to a near whisper. Andi couldn't imagine what dark thoughts riddled his subconscious, but she knew she had to pull him out of it. Kneeling in front of Michael, she rested both hands on his shoulders and sought eye contact. He looked at her, but it felt as if he was looking through. She hoped, at least, that he was listening.   
“If, _somehow_ , you are the Devil's son, if, _somehow_ , you _are_ the Antichrist, then the ball is in your court and the game is in your hands. And if he wants to—bring about some end of days bullshit, then we tell him to go do his own dirty work. You are no one's pawn, Michael Langdon. Devil or not. You don't answer to him.”

Michael nodded a little, looking somewhat less forlorn as Andi rose to a half-kneel and leaned in, kissing his cheek reassuringly before standing upright.  
“There was one other thing,” Michael grasped Andi's wrist as she turned away from him, gently pulling her back in to hug around the middle of her frame. For someone convinced he was born of the devil, he seemed… remarkably fragile now.   
Resting one hand in his hair and the other on his left shoulder, Andi stood still and waited for him to speak.  
“Children, it is the last hour. And as you have heard the antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have come. By this we know that it is the last hour.” A bible verse? Had he read and memorized it? What for?   
“Michael, don't torture yourself with the antichrist stuff—” Andi began, but the blonde shook his head, cutting her off before she could start comforting him.   
“No, _listen,_ the middle of the phrase. 'Even now many antichrists have come.' What if I'm not the only one? What if by choosing not to embrace my place, someone else takes it instead?”

“Your place?” Did he think the Devil had several other sons running around, all vying for his position as next in line for the open throne?  
“My place as the bringer of the apocalypse.” Michael's brow look so furrowed that Andi almost thought he might start to cry.   
“Michael, you're acting way too certain about all of this. One birthmark isn't proof. And—even if it was, you can just—refuse it.”   
“And if I say no, if I don't do it, who will? If not me, then who? And if not now, then when?” Wide eyes surveyed Andi, desperately seeking answers she didn't have. Why was he agonizing over a single birthmark? Why was he so fixated on one unproven theory?

“Why does that even matter?” Andi pleaded, wanting to lead him back down into a place of calm and away from the hysteria she could feel bubbling beneath the surface of his subconsciousness.   
“Because I don't want to be responsible for a world that doesn't have you in it!” His voice rose an octave, flooding with emotion—anger?  
“Then don't make one!” Andi felt downright exasperated now. What answer would make this stop? What did he want to hear?   
“It's never going to be that simple, Andi.” Ripping himself away from the redheaded girl, Michael stormed off towards the front hall, snatching his jacket down from a hook on the wall along the way.

“Where are you going?” Andi called after him, startled by the sudden movement and only just rising to her feet by time he reached the door.  
“Out,” was the single word he uttered in reply, before disappearing into the dimness of the hall, the heavy brass door swinging shut behind him as he fled.


End file.
